Cork on the Fork

One of the things I like (and also dislike) about myself is the fact that as
I get ever more aggravated with any one person, assignment, situation, I tend to
become ever so unconcerned with how I phrase my sentences, direct my ire, etc.

For Example:

After 2 Hours of an Excel Spreadsheet:

Random Person: “How’s it coming?”

Me: “Oh, you know, like the Third Reich and the Jews. No matter how much I
get done, more just keeps popping up.”

Explanation: In my head, the metaphor seems somewhat applicable.

Interpretation: I am a raving neo-nazi psycho.

……………….

I had fun with this little quirk today:

After 3 days of sheer bliss, The Puerto Rican has returned. Set Loose from
whatever temporary prison had held her, she has returned to delight me with her
tales of “Things I can’t shut up about” and “Why men should be the slaves of all
women,” with short interludes containing phrases like “Diva power” and “Can I
‘borrow’ another carton of newports?”

Truly, the tear that fell from my eye as she walked through the door was one
of pure bliss.

Regardless, the initial conversation follows…

PR = Puerto Rican

(Door Opens, she walks in and directs her verbiage towards me)

PR: “I made so much progress this weekend.”

Me: (Silence)

PR: (As she walks directly towards where I’m sitting) “I made SO much progress
this weekend.”

(I should mention, I am completely free to talk and am, In fact, doing
absolutely nothing beyond breathing and regulating my heartbeat)

Me: (Silence)

PR: (She emerges from her room and confronts me directly) “Don’t you want to
know what I did?”

Me: “I honestly have no inclination whatsoever to care about what you did, or
did not do.”

PR: (Makes a grumpy face, much like an angry Irish farmer)

Me: “But, In a good way.”

…

Then she made herself a mess of fried shrimp and passed out in her bed,
covered with the grease from a thousand tiny prawn.

————————————-

Please insert a stray cat.

All I wanted was a sweet tasting confection, perhaps even a sumptuous desert
for my rumbling stomach…

It started out as any other baked good. I decided upon a cake, as I had all
the necessary ingredients and the time seemed right for a wonderful oval shaped
treat. Respective parts sugar, flour, eggs, cocoa powder, and assorted other
ingredients required were mixed, the batter was poured into an oblong baking
dish, and a 375 Degree oven was its final destination. Soon, and thusly, the
apartment filled with the sweet aroma of Hershey’s Brand Chocolate and Delicious
Cooked Sugar and Butter.

As I peered into the oven, my delicious creation came to life before my eyes.

The Cake was Ready.

This was when the trouble began.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Cake is delicious on its own. Some deserts need no
companionship, like a Jacques Torres Fantasy Chocolate Sculpture, or a Julia
Child Fruit Tart, but Cake is not one of those. It requires a sidekick, his
name? Frosting.

The delectable combination of soft, airy cake and creamy, sugary frosting has
delighted millions, no, Billions of human beings and other creatures of this
small planet we live on….perhaps even other planets. But as the famous quote
goes, “Let he who will baketh the cake, also concoct the Frosting.. And let his
everlasting soul not be consumed by hellfire during the procession.” (Cakeology
4:12)

—

I should have known better. There’s a damn good reason that Pillsbury sells
frosting in Buckets at every Food Store in the World. They ALONE possess the
knowledge, and the tools, to properly wield the power of Frosting. Well, that
and the fact that they have recipes that they know work.

– Add egg whites

– Add sugar

– Beat egg whites and sugar

– Panic due to total lack of thickening

– Add Flour in futile attempt to thicken

– More beating

– More panicing

– Add Baking Powder to see “What the hell could happen?”

– Add Butter for “Tasting Purposes”

– More Flour

– More Egg Whites

…

Give up and turn frosting into another cake.

—–

What did I learn? Frosting is worth $1.99 in a can.

Also, I make delicious cakes, but I lack in the frosting department.

And, I can feed failed projects to the Puerto Rican by mixing the remnants
into her day old fried shrimp batter/vomit/porridge/taquito mix

——–

Tony: (He reads the order that comes up in the kitchen, a
relatively simple request for no butter with their meal, and extra Bernaise)
“Alright, they want no butter, no butter, and extra Bernaise sauce. What the
f&*k? No butter? Extra Bernaise? Bernaise Sauce is just egg yolks and butter.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?”

Chef Tony is my Favorite Angry, Bitter, Smoking, Chef.

Also, he smokes in the Kitchen at his Restaurant. Believe it
or not, that’s a Federal Crime.

Yesterday, I had 5 Cups of Coffee in 3 Hours. That’s a record for Caffeine
intake on my part.

It’s a good thing too….otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stay up and
listen to the nonstop giggling coming from the maw of shrimp beast.

…..

Anyway, I’m reading Michael Crichton’s Rising Sun, and it’s pretty
decent. How I wish that the real business world was more involved with
international power games, and less involved with TPS reports.

John Connor: Americans like to fix the blame. The
Japanese fix the problem.

I’m writing this update because I am pissed about my Puerto Rican Roommate.
Not because she’s Puerto Rican (She is likely from another bastard nation, but I
do not wish to speak to her about it) but because she is an ass. She mooches
cigarettes, fries shrimp in shallow pans then lets them fester for no good
reason, leaves tampon wrappers all over my bathroom, hocks loogies in the sink,
and will not stop talking (to me, or herself – it doesn’t matter!) about the
most god damn inane things you have ever heard. Not the funny inane things
either, the bizarre/boring/trite ones: Purses, Getting Ahead in the
Telemarketing World, Which Pants don’t make her butt look big. (Trick Question,
They ALL do- because she has a large buttocks. Probably from all the fried
shrimp.)

Anyway, I’m only pissed enough to write this because I was up till 4 am
listening to her phone babble on the other side of my wall, and being this tired
and cranky makes me fidgety.

She just asked about a daytrip to some place in Virginia (or Puerto Rico, I
can’t remember) and all I could think about was what state would be the best to
avoid being extradited back to Virginia (god dammed death penalty) if I were to
brutally murder her human form – and respectively, cleanse away her demonic
presence from the poor locality where she meets her end at the hand of a
man who had no farther to fall.

—–

Anyway, I just spent a good deal of time printing out a huge poster of Bruce
Campbell. It’s awesome.

That The Poster. By the Way, it gives me a good idea.

Alert Reader Jenny P. (The “P.” Stands for P) sent me this announcement that
the perfect cat for me was available:

http://home.rica.net/spca/adultcats.htm

His Name: Hitler

Preferred Means of Transportation: 1937 Mark III Rolls Royce
with Swastikas Painted on the Doors

—

I always wanted a cat, especially one so awesome as this. Cats
are awesome because you can just leave them be 90% of the time – I hate having
to deal with slobbering, barking animals (monkeys) 6 hours a day. Cats require
food, and shelter – that’s pretty much it. Love is optional.

——————————-

I think I’ll ask my suitemates if they are allergic to cat
dander or anything.

—–

Have you ever felt really awkward asking your professor a question about
sexuality?

No, neither Have I. What kind of sick bastard would lay that onto an
unsuspecting individual?

Anyway, I was asking my Russian Transitions Professor (She is Russian and She
Teaches Transition from Socialism, it’s Sadly Ironic) and when I asked her for a
handout from the previous class, she responded with,

“And why werent you in class on Monday?”

I responded with a quick lie,

“I was sick, had to take the day off.”

Which, in fact, was totally unnecessary – I had actually missed class to
perform a job interview over the phone. But instinct is instinct, and I feigned
Illness.

At the moment I said this, I simultaneously removed my Hat to show her the
proper courtesy. Unfortunately, I neglected to remember I had recently shaved my
Head. And my Beard.

And that I was currently inhabiting a frame somewhere between 127 and 132
Standard Pounds *

…

You had to be there, but everything came together to nuance the fact that I
was undergoing Chemotherapy.

Yes, I have Cancer. Imaginary Cancer. The Deadliest Kind. **

End Result –

Instead of Receiving the Handout – I received her Personal Copy of the
Textbook it was drawn from, plus, the option to do the assignment based upon it,
“If I was feeling up to it.”

—

I’ve Seen Wit. Cancer is Horrible. But I’ll be damned if I tell that
poor woman her pity or empathy was misplaced.

To Illustrate – Here is a Random Picture of Me where I believe*** that I look
like a cross between John Travolta and Viggo Mortensen,

Magua

—-

* Thank You “Eat Less, Fatty” by Paul Church.

** Not Deadly

***Wish Were True, but not because I want to be that Good Looking, rather, I
wish to be Rich out of My Ass. And Possibly the King of Middle Earth – or really
good at dancing.

—-

Travolta did his Best work with that
Haircut.

Until last night I had nearly forgotten that the London Underworld was so
entertaining. God Knows that If I had the chance to become an illegal
underground boxing promoter I would quit school to pursue it, but I just don’t
see the opportunity coming up. Also, I know next to nothing about boxing, and
even less about the workings of a seedy, crime underworld.

Turkish: What’s happening with those sausages, Charlie?
Charlie: Five minutes, Turkish.
Turkish: It was “two minutes” five minutes ago.

The key to a good conversation is to keep both parties interested in the
topic or “”engaged.” A good conversation can be one-sided, when an intriguing
tale is related to the other party, or it can be two-sded, where each party
exchanges ideas and thoughts.

A bad conversation has none of the below:

– Interest

– Response

– Rational Thought

– One of the parties not wanting to stab the other in the eye with the
closest sharp object

– One of the parties not imagining exactly how difficult it would be
to hide a body, or properly dispose of it to avoid police intervention

I can’t believing this person is still talking.

———

I’m not going to name names, but recently I have been involved in many “bad”
conversations. All with one person. All with one person I now avoid at nearly
all costs just to keep my sanity.

Indirect Results of Mind-Numbing Roommate’s * Constant Jibba-Jabba:

* – “Roommate” may or may not mean Roommate

– Increased Drinking

– Feigning Sleep

– Oven Repair

– Plumbing Concerns

– Fear of Puerto Rico

———–

Ways to Tell if You are of Interest to a Second indivUal correlated with
Konversational responseS (ISUCKS)

— The “K” in “Konversation” stands for Kill Me Please —

Good Responses:
Bad Responses:

1) Your Idea Intrigues Me
1) Meh

2) I Agree
2) Heh

3) I was also thinking that
3) ….

4) Please, tell me more.
4) I have to go……Sort my Sock Drawer

——————————————————–

In A more Pleasant Tone:

– I’ve Placed a new Image Gallery Up, feel free to

look

—–

Movie/Book/TV/Life Quote – Irish Themed

Paul Smecker: “There was a FIRE FIGHT.”

Sgt. Elias: “Barnes believes in what he’s doing.”
Chris Taylor: “And you?”
Sgt. Elias: “Back in ’65? Yeah. Now, no. What happened today is just the
beginning. We’re gonna lose this war.”

—-

In recent news:

I am cold, so very cold.

I took a 4 mile walk, unexpectedly, in a jacket. Foolish.

I knew I was near hypothermia when I thought about breaking into houses to
get warm. I even considered buying coffee from 7-11.

7-11. Yeah. I’m from NOVA for gods sake, anything less than Starbucks is just
swill. I might as well have suggested, “Hey, drink my own Urine. It’ll be Toasty Warm.”

Colder.

I’m going to revert back to childhood instinct.

1) Pile Blankets and Pillows

2) Throw self into Blankets and Pillows

3) Imagine I am King of Pillow and blanket Land.

4) Raise core body temperature to at least
90â—¦

—————-

Did you know China is Responsible
for the Collapse of Communist Socialism?